Aftermath
by Linsneakers
Summary: ::Spoilers for MGS1 & MGS: PW?:: Sometimes, the Russian wished he never met that man.


Aftermath

Ocelot took a deep breath, glaring at the door in front of him. The chill air around him seemed to calm his nerves as he lifted his hand to rap on the door. His nerves weren't nervous, oh no, Revolver Ocelot _never_ got nervous—well, he didn't now. He did back _then_, but not now. Definitely not now; if he got nervous now, he'd rather "accidently" ricochet one of those bullets from his guns into his heart.

But no, these nerves, these were of anger. Of fury. Of _rage_. Of hatred and loathing and jealousy and envy and betrayal and hatred and anger and _hatred and betrayal._

That man was going to die tonight, in his lonesome, cold house out in the middle of nowhere in Alaska. The Russian scoffed at the huskies that started to howl as he knocked on the door, before shoving his hands back in the pockets of his coat as he heard the owner of the house trying to shut the damned mutts up. When the door opened, Ocelot quickly scanned the occupant of the household. This was him. This was the man; there was absolutely no mistaking it. Ocelot would never forget that man, even though it had been 31 years. Even if it'd been 50 years later, he wouldn't forget. If he'd gotten Alzheimer's he was sure he'd never forget.

"May I help you?" the man asked, Ocelot noticing the questioning gaze in his eyes, even behind those sunglasses the guy wore.

"Yes, I…" the Russian froze. He couldn't believe it; everything he'd planned to say just flew right out of his mind. Dammit, this was not what was supposed to happen. He was supposed to be flawless and perfect and precise! This was fucking personal, so why was he already _failing_? Why was he _even_ failing in the first place? No! It wasn't possible! He _never_ failed.

"Are you all right? Would you like to come in?" the younger man was concerned. Why he was concerned, Ocelot had no idea. Did the man not find him the least intimidating? Surely most people did.

Either way, Ocelot let a short smirk appear on his lips, "Yes, I would appreciate that." The man before him returned the grin and stepped back, allowing the Russian to enter. He took off his boots and followed his…"host" into the living room, where the man offered a seat.

"Can I offer you some coffee?"

"That would be divine."

"How do you take it?"

"Black."

"All right. Make yourself at home. Bathroom's down the hall on the right if you need it."

Ocelot nodded. How much of an idiot was this guy? He didn't even ask for his name. But dammit…how did he even…? The Russian grit his teeth, resisting the urge to shoot at the dogs that stared at them behind their little barricade taking up a third of the room. They reminded him of Wolf's…wolves. Stupid mangy mutts. Useless, mangy mutts. What people saw in those pesky animals, he had no idea. They had no purpose, they were worthless.

"So, what brings you out to Alaska?" the man asked, returning from the kitchen, two mugs of coffee in his hands. Handing the mug to his guest, Ocelot gave a curt nod in thanks, taking a sip of the dark drink as the other sat down.

"I came down here to visit my friend. He wanted me to watch him in that dogsled race over here. The…one on the Iditarod Trail was it?" the race was pointless, but it did make for a good excuse. But why he even knew of it, that was one thing he didn't know.

"Ah, yes," the other man mused, "I heard that one of my former students is going to enter that race as well."

"Then I guess it'll be a great race, hm?"

"Oh, they always are."

A small silence filled the room, Ocelot taking quick glances around the room. There was nothing special around, it looked like a normal house. But the Russian knew better. He knew there was more than meets the eye somewhere. This man was an ex-soldier; he would no doubt have a gun or some other sort of weapon hiding somewhere in every room for easy access in case of trouble.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is McDonell Miller, just call me Miller."

"Adam."

Ocelot could feel the other man stare at him, finally seeming to actually get a good hard _look_ at his guest. Even though…Miller still kept those sunglasses on, Ocelot could see those blue eyes of his squinting in realization and confusion. The blonde man slowly placed his mug on the table, and slowly stood up, staring harshly at the Russian. Ocelot gave a short smirk,

"What seems to be the problem?"

"You're Revolver Ocelot…"

The Russian got up as well, and gave a slow clap, "Bravo. I knew I was famous."

"…What do you want?" the ex-soldier seethed, his dogs in their barricade starting to growl along with him, sensing his uneasiness.

"What I want? I want revenge."

"For what?" Ocelot glared. Such ignorance!

"Sleeping with _him_." The Russian spat.

"Who…are you talking about?" Miller questioned, taking a couple steps back towards a drawer by his television set. In an instant, Ocelot brought out one of his revolvers, making the bullet hit the wolves steel barricade and fly straight into the younger man's hand, dropping the gun he'd tried to in the upper-hand with.

While Miller was distracted with his bleeding hand, Ocelot quickly jumped over the table and gripped onto the younger man's neck, eyes wild with fury. "You know who I'm talking about! Thirty-one years ago, on the Caribbean Coast of Costa Rica! On the Playa del Alba!"

"H-How did you…?"

"I was on a mission, but I ended up getting sent off course. I wandered around for a bit, before stumbling upon the scene with you and _him_ together. It made my blood boil. I should have killed you then and there. But now _he's_ dead and I can't ever do anything even remotely close to that! Do you know how damned lucky you are, you bastard?"

"I'll be sure to say 'hi' to him for you once you kill me."

"You… filthy American Dog, shut up!"

Shadow Moses Island

"Ah, Ocelot! You've returned!" the Russian turned to the blonde British man that came bounding his way, a joyful smile on his face. "Well, how'd it go? Did you find Miller?"

"Yes, but it looked like someone robbed him. He was dead. Bullet to the heart."

"Really? Well that makes my job easier." Liquid mused, his smile brightening.

Ocelot gave a quick roll of his eyes, before throwing a pair of sunglasses to the other man, "I stole them off the dead man."

Giddily, Liquid quickly put the shades on and tied his hair back into a ponytail with an elastic band he'd kept on his wrist. The Russian had to resist shooting the man. He looked _exactly_ like that damned bastard…

"Well, what do you think?"

"The resemblance is uncanny, Boss."

"Great! Now, I have to go rub it in Decoy Octopus' face!" then the British man ran away.

Ocelot sighed, glaring out ahead into the falling snow, his coat flailing wildly in the wind. He didn't care though. He got his revenge. He just hoped that now, Solid Snake would look more like Liquid instead of their father.

'_What's your name?'_

'_Snake._'

'_No, not that name. You're not a snake, and I'm not an ocelot. We're men with names. My name is… Adamska. And you?_'

'_John._'

'_Plain name. But I won't forget it._'

"John…" Ocelot muttered the name with slight anger, "I didn't forget you. Did you forget me? Is that why you slept with that bastard?" he grit his teeth, before punching the nearest thing. Then he punched it again and again.

He should have killed that damned Miller thirty-one years ago when he saw the scene. Or maybe he should have just left and pretended it was all just a horrible, horrible nightmare. Or maybe, he should have killed Miller and then proven to John that he was worthy of whatever that blonde bastard was worthy of. He should have killed that EVA bitch, too…

'_But that was some fancy shooting. You're pretty good._'

'_Pretty…good…_'

"Ocelot, what're you still doing out here? Come on, we're holding a meeting!"

"Coming, Boss…"

Sometimes, the Russian wished he never met that man. Sometimes, the Russian wished Operation Snake Eater had never happened. Sometimes, the Russian found himself wishing he could be in that man's arms.


End file.
